Talk about a tough situation. I’m just about to settle in, ready to compose today’s masterpiece, and my husband deigned to ask me: “Just how long is this blog going to take?” To which I scoff, how does one estimate time when creating genius?
Did anyone ask Coco Chanel if she could pick up the pace on her little black dress? No man, she would smash you in the face with that cigarette, and you’d still think that was the classiest broad alive.
Did anyone ever ask Miles Davis, “Hey can you give me a rough estimate on how long it’ll take to record your heroin laced stream of consciousness jazz riffs?” No, they did not.
And you would fuck off, because you’d be sorry to asked such a stupid question.
You can’t rush perfection, bitches, just ask Barbra Streisand.
You can only imagine what was happening right before this picture was taken:
“Over there, cuddling that dog in front of that giant picture of herself”.
What’s really happening here is that I’m stumped for a topic I’d like to write about today. And I’ve promised my husband that I’ll be done in one hour. Truth is, I’m feeling frustrated, which is becoming an increasing sensation in my life. It’s as if my very existence is at the end of a long hallway and every door is locked. But I don’t want to turn this blog into a bitch-fest, we’re all here because we need a little break; you don’t want to take a break from your own version of the daily grind and be like: “Oh good, her life is super depressing, and her exquisite writing skills really makes me feel her pain… I’ll be sure to tune in daily”. I’d like to keep things light, fun, frisky–like Cosmo magazine, only with more pictures of gay icons holding dogs. So, on occasion when I do drop something heavy on you–it’ll be kind of like borrowing your car without permission–it’s okay if I only do it once in a while.
The creator of Cosmo, Helen Gurley Brown, just look at her keeping it light and having it all.